


Shadows on the Shore

by Glass_O_Lemonade



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Stream of Consciousness, Temporary Amnesia, now with a better written version included, the essence of a half eaten sandwich, yes it is THAT young person on a bike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_O_Lemonade/pseuds/Glass_O_Lemonade
Summary: When the storm calls him, he answers.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Jill
Comments: 17
Kudos: 21





	1. First Draft

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s some words.

_He first sees her face in dreams he forgets. He knows her, though no memories rise from their depths while he sleeps._

Lightning dances across the sky; electric veins of the approaching storm. The waves have grown stronger since he stepped onto the beach. He stands still, eyes fixed ahead, body free of any and all tension it may have held before. By now, his bare feet have sunk into the sand; grains, each distinct and innumerable, fill the spaces between his toes. The tide is rising, moving ever closer to him with each push and pull. Salt is in the air, in the wind, in his sweat, and on his skin. As the storm grows nearer, the smell of rain over the ocean reaches him. The night is salt and clouds and lightning and rain and rolling thunder.

He wears minimal clothing, more skin than cloth. There's a charge in the air, raising each and every hair upon his body. Goosebumps, he thinks absently. The electricity of the night is well and truly alive around him, as alive as the storm above him, as alive as the ocean before him.

He stands alone on the shore. The wind picks up, breezes shift to gusts. A raindrop falls onto his shoulder. A raindrop lands upon his nose. There's a pause, a minute or two, and then the night's storm arrives in all it's glory and magnificence. And it is glory, magnificence, and power. Raw, untamed power.

_She's familiar... safe... a friend. She's more. He'll find her. Unless, he's found first._

No one can trap a storm. No one can stop it. No one can consume it, pause it, keep for later. A storm is live. A storm is improv and original and new. Every time.

The temperature's dropped, he has no doubt in this, and yet, he feels not a degree colder. He stands with no cover, no umbrella, no roof. Rain falls upon him, coats him from head to toe. The rain's a second skin. The rain renews his skin. No chill threatens him as he stands, as he welcomes the storm, as he stands witness to it's life and brilliance. His legs do not yearn to bend, do not plead to lie. He tilts his head up and shuts his eyes.

Somewhere the moon's full, obscured by clouds.

_He's been gone far longer than he expected to be away for._

Gone from where? Or, too... from who.

The world flashes beside him, lit up by a lightning strike touching the ground. His toes curl into the sand below. Glass. Glass shall form around him, another of the world's mysteries. The first strike is followed by a second, a third, and more.

He knows not why he's here, yet stays all the same. If an answer is to come, it shall come. This he knows.

He's yet to breathe recently. A peculiar thing, breathing. He's not aware when he stopped. He forces his chest to fill. A deep breath in. Out. In. Then he ceases the task once more. 

There upon the shore, within the storm, he remembers. He remembers.

_He is energy. He is destruction. He is power. He is a cycle, a never ending cycle._

He calls forth the lightning above, directs strikes to the beach’s far ends. He pulls the ocean forward, brings his arms together as the waves crash into one another.

The smell of fresh fruit suddenly fills the air, and he knows he’s no longer lost, no longer alone. He lost himself. He had. But no more.

_He first sees her face in dreams he forgets; dreams of memories and promises. Not truly dreams at all._

The raging storm calms around them as she lights upon the sand before him.

_She is home._

Sheis life and green and fruit and soil. She is dedication and joy.

”I’ve missed you,” her voice sounds above the wind and rain and thunder, for him and him alone. She crosses the short distance between them, her skin and gown untouched by his power.

”I’ve missed you.” He has, he has, he has.

She wraps her arms around him, rests her head upon his chest. He memorizes this moment, as he returns her embrace.

To a passing mortal, all they would see is faint shadows in the night, obscured by gentle rain and wind and darkness. Mere tricks of one’s eyes.

As the storm dissolves away, the moon descends; the eastern sky begins to lighten to blues and purples.

The tide’s crept away, lower and calmer.

She steps back. He steps back. Their hands clasp one another; their fingers interlock.

”Let’s go home.”

”Let’s. I’ve been away long enough.”

In a blink, only the scents of salt and fruit remain. Not even footprints are left to mark the place gods stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in reading this again, but a version written while I’m properly awake & aware enough to edit/revise? Alternatively, or in addition, anyone interested in reading more from this impulse ‘verse of mine?


	2. Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka, Version 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the first version & this version for posterity's sake. I find it neat to see how awake me revised/enhanced the piece exhausted/sleepy me initially wrote.

_He first sees her face in dreams he forgets. He knows her, though no memories rise from their depths while he sleeps._

Lightning dances across the sky; electric veins of the approaching storm. The waves have grown stronger since he stepped onto the beach. He stands still, eyes fixed ahead, his body free of any and all tension it may have held before. By now, his bare feet have sunk into the sand; innumerable grains, each distinct from one another, fill the spaces between his toes. The tide is rising; the ocean moving ever closer to him with each push and pull. Salt is in the air, in the wind, in his sweat, on his skin. As the storm grows nearer, the smell of rain over the water reaches him. The night is salt and clouds and lightning and rain and rolling thunder. The night is _alive._

He wears minimal clothing, more skin than cloth. His feet are bare, as shoes rarely cross his mind. There's a charge in the air, raising each and every hair upon his body. Goosebumps, he identifies absently. The electricity of the night is well and truly alive around him, as alive as the storm above him, as alive as the ocean before him.

He stands alone on the shore. The wind picks up, and breezes shift to gusts. A raindrop falls onto his shoulder. A raindrop lands upon his nose. There's a pause, a minute or two, and then the night's storm arrives in all it's glory and magnificence. And it is glory, and magnificence, and power. Raw, untamed power.

_She's familiar... safe... a friend. She's more though, too. He'll find her. Eventually. Unless, of course, he's found first._

No one can trap a storm. No one can stop it. No one can consume it, pause it, keep it stored away for later. No one can reverse it, nor hasten it's existence. The same can be said for all of weather. No matter how many jars, no matter the size or kind, one can never seal sunshine, never. Cold? Heat? Snow? Hail? Sunlight? Wind? Each of weather's forms exist beyond the touch of man.

The temperature's dropped, he has no doubt of this, and yet, he feels not a degree colder. He stands without a hood, without an umbrella, without a roof; no cover of any sort. Rain falls upon him and coats him from his head to his toes. The rain's a second skin. The rain renews his skin. No chill threatens him as he stands, as he welcomes the storm, as he stands witness to it's life and brilliance. His legs do not yearn to bend, do not plead to lie. He tilts his head up and shuts his eyes.

Somewhere the moon is full, obscured by clouds.

_He's been gone far longer than he expected to be away for.  
_

Gone from where? Or, too... from who.

The world flashes beside him, lit up by a lightning strike as it touches ground. His toes curl into the sand below. Glass. Glass shall form around him, another of the world's wonders. The first strike is followed by a second, a third, and more.

He knows not why he's here, upon this shore, yet he stays all the same. If an answer is to come, it shall come. This he knows.

He's yet to breathe recently. A peculiar thing, breathing. He's not aware when he stopped. He forces his chest to fill. A deep breath in. Out. In. Once more, he eventually ceases the unnecessary task.

There upon the shore, within the storm, he remembers. He remembers.

_He is energy. He is destruction. He is power. He is a cycle, a never ending cycle.  
_

He calls forth the lightning above him, directs strikes down, down to the beach’s far ends. He pulls the ocean forwards, brings his arms together, and the waves do as he commands; they crash into one another, wild and violent.

Then...

...she's there.

The smell of fresh fruit suddenly fills the air, and he knows he’s no longer lost. He's no longer alone.

He lost himself. He had. Again no less. But no more.

_He first sees her face in dreams he forgets; dreams of memories and promises. Not truly dreams at all._

The raging storm calms around them as she lights upon the saturated sand before him.

_She is life and green and fruit and soil. She is dedication and joy._

_She is home._

”I’ve missed you,” her voice sounds above the wind and rain and thunder and waves- for him and him alone. She crosses the short distance between them, her skin and gown dry, untouched by his power. Her feet are bare.

”I’ve missed you.” He has, he has, he has. She wraps her arms around him, rests her head upon his chest. He memorizes this moment, as he returns her embrace. “The others?” He asks, already suspecting her response.

Her answering laugh loosens something within him, and he feels lighter now than he has in a while.

”They missed you, too. We all did.”

To a passing mortal, all they would see is faint shadows in the night, obscured by gentle rain and wind and darkness. Mere tricks of one’s eyes.

* * *

_He does not open his eyes. He already knows who the bike brings._

_"She's found him."_

_He knew she would. She always does.  
_

_"Was that ever in doubt?"_

* * *

As the storm concludes, as the clouds dissipate, the moon descends; the eastern sky begins to lighten to pinks and purples. The tide’s crept away, the waves now lower and calmer.

She steps back. He steps back. Their hands clasp one another; their fingers interlock.

”Let’s go home.”

With her? He’s already there.

”Let’s. I’ve been away long enough.”

In a blink, only the scents of salt and fruit remain. Not even footprints are left to mark the place gods stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jill POV next! It'll be a prequelish piece.  
> Any thoughts on who was featured here?


	3. Jill

He finds her sitting beside the fountain, her toes buried beneath the soil, her fingers dancing across the water. There’s an ease in her movements, in her aura, he’s not recently seen. He knows of only one thing that _(only one person who)_ could be the cause. A sense of relief passes through him as he realizes.

”You’ve found him.”

She turns from the fountain, meets his knowing gaze. “I have.”

He joins her, sitting to her right. “When will you depart?” He doubts she’ll wait long.

”When he wakes.”

A gentle quiet befalls them.

In moments like these, peaceful pauses touched by the world of mortals, his thoughts often drift back to her, _Allison_. He wonders where she may be now, wonders whether she still thinks of him, fondly thinks of him... He wonders if- when next their paths will cross.

”He has a new name.”

He returns to the present moment, curious. “Does he?”

She gives a nod, her smile soft. “Ben. Suits him, don’t you think?”

He considers this and finds himself agreeing. “It does.”

* * *

What is a name to an immortal? To a god? It was man who imbued names with power, with influence, with meaning. Man named the first gods. Man will name the last.

Her last name was Jill, received during her last visit below, a sojourn around the mortal globe. She thinks she will be Jill for a while longer now.

* * *

The field around him, shriveled and dry, responds to another’s call, transforming back to life from death. He feels as the grass grows, as the wild flowers bloom. _She did it._

He can’t hide his grin or the eager anticipation that fills him.

It isn’t long after when he’s joined by another, but he does not open his eyes. He already knows who the bike brings. They come to a stop upon the path before speaking.

"She's found him."

He knew she would. _She always does._

"Was that ever in doubt?" After all, those two would always find one another; it was inevitable. “And here I thought you knew all.”

“Mortals fear what they do not know and are predictably unpredictable.” Their words are not new to him, but he considers them all the same. “ _You_ care too little,” they add.

 _Pot. Kettle._ He thinks.

The bike jouneys away then, and he is alone. In minutes, the grass and flowers beneath him die and wilt, before his presence reclaims the entire field around him once more.

* * *

She is both a half and a whole. Life would not be the same without the waves, without the rain, without storms or weather. She would not be the same without him.

The moment he wakes she feels it within her core. Lightning. A roiling ocean. Rain kissed sand.

She wastes not a single moment in her journey, immediately arriving upon the same beach.

There, before her, stands her other half, her heart. Ben. _Ben._

She’s home.


End file.
